Although the “else” was deliberately stressed, Shayne chose to disregard it.
“At that time did you think that possibly your wife had some other man in mind?”
“Elsa? Hell, no! She wasn’t what you’d call… very sexy. I thought it was the old man’s idea entirely.”
“Does the name of Robert Lambert mean anything to you?”
“I never heard it until last night.”
“Then you have no idea when or how she met him… how long it’s been going on?”
“None.”
Shayne sipped at his drink and pondered. There were a lot of contradictions here. He thought back over his interview with Eli Armbruster that morning, and he wondered. Had the old man lied to him… twisted the facts in order to put Paul Nathan into a bad light? There was no doubt that Eli hated his son-in-law. Why?
He asked Nathan that question: “Why did Eli hate you?”
“Because he would have hated any man his daughter married,” Nathan told him promptly. “She was almost thirty-five when we were married, you know. An attractive woman with more money in her own name than she knew what to do with. Does it occur to you to wonder why she hadn’t married earlier in life?”
“Why hadn’t she?”
“She told me after we were married. Because the old man busted up every affair she had in the past. Twice, he put private detectives on prospective sons-in-law and managed to dig up enough dirt to make her change her mind. She thought it was because he suspected they were all fortune hunters. I had a different idea.”
Shayne didn’t ask him what that idea was. It was altogether too plain from Nathan’s attitude.
Instead, he asked, “What did you do with your Friday nights?”
“I went on the town.” Nathan gestured vaguely. “Night spots. Gambling.”
“Have any luck gambling?”
“Not much. I generally ended up loser. Elsa was very generous and forgiving.” Nathan’s mouth twisted sourly. “She bailed me out a couple of times when I got in too deep… with a nice long lecture on the value of money.”
Shayne said, “Let’s go to last night. Did you come home at all?”
“From the office, you mean? No. I scarcely ever did. I… went out for dinner, and then on to make the rounds.”
For the first time during the interview Shayne noted a slight hesitation on Nathan’s part. He didn’t press the point.
“Then you last saw your wife yesterday morning?”
“That’s right. We had breakfast together before I left for the office.”
“How did she seem then? Upset or anything?”
“Not that I noticed. She was a woman who didn’t display her emotions. Goddamn it, if I’d had any idea…” He sighed and relapsed into silence.
“When did you hear… what happened to her?”
“It was about two o’clock this morning. I was having a lousy run at the crap table at El Cielito here on the Beach. Fellow I know from the office, Jim Norris, came in and told me. He’d heard it on the radio. My God! I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. Not Elsa. Any other woman… sure. But your own wife…” He shook his head angrily from side to side, then picked up his glass and drained it.
Shayne said, “I’d like to have a time table of your movements… from the time you left the office until your friend spoke to you at the crap table.”
Nathan glared at him angrily. “Do I need an alibi for God’s sake?”
“It would help,” Shayne told him equably, getting the paper from his pocket on which the police had noted a record of Nathan’s evening as he had given it to them.
“I told it to the police last night. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Shayne said, “Then tell it to me again. If it checks out, the case will be closed so far as I’m concerned.”
“I left the office about five.” Nathan screwed up his face in a look of concentration. “Stopped with Jim Norris and a couple of others at a bar for a few drinks. Drove over the Venetian Causeway to keep a dinner date at six-thirty.”
“Where? With whom?” Looking at the sheet of paper in his hand, Shayne noted that it did not mention dinner. The first entry was eight o’clock.
“What the hell does it matter? I understand nothing happened until about ten o’clock?”
“Then why do you mind telling me where you had dinner?”
“I don’t. That is… I don’t think it’s any of your damned business, but I ate at the Red Cock. I had a reservation for six-thirty.”
“By yourself?”
Paul Nathan colored slightly and wet his lips. “As a matter of fact, no. I was with a girl from the office. A secretary. But it was perfectly innocent and you can leave her name out of it. I drove her home at eight o’clock and left her without even a good-night kiss.” A sneer on his lips told Shayne to try to make something out of that. Shayne made a mental note to do exactly that.
But he said, “And after you left her?”
“I went to the Fun Club and played some blackjack and roulette. My luck was lousy. I stayed about two hours and went on to the Bay Breeze where I thought maybe the grass was greener. I know I got there a few minutes before ten because I looked at my watch and mentioned it to the girl when I bought chips. I generally didn’t make it there on a Friday night until about ten-thirty.”
“Do you mean you made the same rounds every Friday night?”
“More or less. Mostly more. You know how it is, gambling. You get to know the dealers and croupiers at certain places.”
Shayne said, “Go on.” He continued to check the list in his hand as Nathan mentioned the joints he had visited before two o’clock, with the approximate time he had spent at each place.
His statement checked closely with what he had told the police the preceding night, with a variance of no more than fifteen minutes in any instance.
“And that’s the story of my night,” Nathan concluded nastily. “Check them out if you like. I’m known at all those places. I should be, by God. I’ve donated enough money in the past year.”
Your wife’s money, Shayne thought, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. “Just one more thing, and then I’ll get out of your hair. Do you know a man named Max Wentworth?”
“Wentworth?” Nathan shook his head. “No. I don’t recall the name.”
“Your wife knew him,” Shayne said.
“What do you mean?” asked Nathan uglily. “Was he another one of my wife’s secret lovers?”
“No. Max happens to be a private detective.”
“A private detective? What was my wife doing with a private detective?”
“I hoped you’d be able to tell me that.”
“But… how do you know?”
“There’s a stub in her checkbook upstairs. Dated about a month ago. She paid Max Wentworth two hundred and fifty dollars as a retainer. A retainer for what, Nathan?”
He said, “I’ll be damned,” his lower jaw drooping slightly, and reached for his empty glass. He lifted it half-way to his lips before he noticed it was empty.
He set it down and shrugged with an elaborate show of nonchalance. “Why don’t you ask Max Wentworth that?”
Shayne said, “I intend to,” and got up. “Thanks for bearing with me, Mr. Nathan. I hope I won’t have to trouble you again.”
Nathan said with forced lightness, “I hope so too. Find your way out?”
Shayne said, “I’ll manage,” and turned away.
CHAPTER NINE
Michael Shayne got in his car and drove away from the Nathan residence thoughtfully. Had Nathan or Armbruster lied about the divorce that had been discussed between the couple? Why would either one of them lie about it? If it had been Elsa’s idea, as Nathan stated so positively, it might indicate that her affair with Lambert had been going on for several months. Eli didn’t believe that… or didn’t want to believe it. Would that be sufficient cause for him to lie about the divorce?
Yes. Shayne guessed it would. He didn’t have very many illusions about Eli Armbruster. With his implacable determination to clear his daughter’s name and somehow put the blame for her death on Nathan’s shoulders, the old man was perfectly capable of telling any lie that fitted his purpose. He wondered idly if Max Wentworth had been Eli’s idea. Nathan had mentioned the fact that Eli had used a private detective in the past to break up his daughter’s marriage plans. Max Wentworth?